


The Heart is Hard to Translate

by vinewood



Series: You Know I'm Yours For the Taking [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinewood/pseuds/vinewood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel’s eyes are shining and in any other case Santana would drop everything to try and make her feel better but she’s not feeling all too magnanimous now, so she undoes her seatbelt and gets out of the car instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart is Hard to Translate

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware that the stories in this series are out of order and I am considering going back and putting them in the proper order. However, I don't see that happening until I am entirely finished with them so I apologize if there's any confusion as to timeline. Also, there's an amount of nervousness that I feel about this particular piece which I cannot particularly explain. 
> 
> There are several Spanish phrases used in this. I think it should be easy to figure out what the phrases mean due to the context, but I've included the translations at the end of the story for those who need them.

So the problem with having this deal in place with Rachel is that she's basically got this preview of what her dad might look like in a few years.  
  
It's disturbing, really, because sometimes Dr. Lieberthal gets really angry and she's more often than not worried that he'll hurt Rachel because he barely recognizes who she is. He yells at Santana when they're in the kitchen and she's getting his plate ready. Santana glances at Rachel and she can tell the girl's embarrassed and just fucking frustrated.  
  
Santana kinda hates Rachel's dad for abandoning the girl because they could really use some help right now.  
  
Dr. Lieberthal's eyes squint at her and then they're shiny and bright- lucid- and he wets his lips and apologizes because, though he's got no idea of what he said, the expression of her face lets him know that he probably acted like a jerk. Santana's eyes water because this illness is bullshit and she wishes with everything inside her that it didn't fucking exist so Dr. Lieberthal would stop looking so hopelessly guilty all the time.  
  
The doorbell rings and Rachel says if she could please get the door then Rachel will finish getting dinner ready. Santana shakes her head and tells Rachel to go. She suffers Sue Sylvester's abuse everyday so a little outburst doesn't faze her; she has thick skin.  
  
She plates the food and has set three places at the table when Rachel leads Santana's father into the kitchen. He kisses her cheek and gently claps Dr. Lieberthal on the shoulder. Rachel joins Santana at the island and they put together one last plate for Dr. López.  
  
This is a new development, this dinner arrangement where the Lópezes trudge over to the Lieberthal house for meals. It's a little bit awkward because her dad instantly clicked with Dr. Lieberthal and they act as though they've been best friends since childhood, and she's spent most of  _her_ childhood treating Rachel like shit.  
  
They sit down to a vegetarian meal (a sweet compromise between Rachel’s vegan ways and Santana’s omnivorous tendencies) and as they all eat, Santana risks a quick glance at her friend. She’s not sure when was the last time Rachel had a hot meal since she helps Dr. Lieberthal guide his spoon to his mouth more often than picking up her own spoon.  
  
It's seriously painful as fuck to watch.  
  
\---------  
  
She's got her calculus book open on the coffee table and is writing the answer to a particularly difficult differential equation.  
  
Her dad's upstairs, helping Rachel get Dr. Lieberthal ready for bed and probably trying to convince the girl (not for the first time) that she should seriously consider bringing in a private nurse to care for Joel.  
  
Santana thinks it's a capital idea because despite Rachel's excellent stage makeup skills, she knows Rachel's got dark circles under her eyes. But Rachel's afraid that if CPS finds out that they'll separate her from her daddy since he's not exactly able to care for her properly.  
  
If she's being honest with herself, Santana can admit that a part of her wants a nurse to come in and take over the least pleasant (read: all) aspects of caring for a person with Huntington's Disease so that she won't have to face the reality of what her own father will likely be like in a few years. It hurts to think that her papi might one day forget who she is and treat her like a stranger, that he probably won't ever see her come into her own and meet her children. Parkinson’s shares many- too many- symptoms with Huntington’s and her papi’s been dealing with them for nearly a decade.  
  
Rachel walks into the living room with her book bag over her shoulder and just looks so devastated that Santana throws her pencil down on her notebook, scrambles to her feet and pulls the girl into her arms.  
  
"Fuck," she mutters, "did my dad say anything?"  
  
Rachel shakes her head. Santana hears her sniffling so she knows that Rachel's crying. She tugs Rachel's bag off her shoulder and drops it on the couch.  
  
"I'm so exhausted!" Rachel cries softly. "And I feel badly because I don't want to do this anymore but Daddy doesn't have anyone but me. My bubbie's too old and Uncle Eli's in Paris and... Oh, God, it's just so fucking unfair."  
  
Santana strokes Rachel's hair because it always calms her down when Brittany does it to her. "That's why you have me here, Rachel. To help."  
  
Rachel pushes away from her. Santana furrows her brow because what the fuck? Rachel shakes her head.  
  
"Please," Rachel scoffs, "we both know that you can't wait to get out of here. I saw your face earlier, Santana. I don't want to be your charity case; I certainly don't need your pity."  
  
Santana raises an eyebrow. "What the hell, Berry? You'd best have a fantastic reason for bitching at me right now because I'm fighting the urge to throttle you." Rachel remains silent and Santana sighs. "I don't pity you, alright? Fuck, I'm making the same trip you are. I'm just on a slower boat. Yeah, the situation's uncomfortable but you're not being fair to me." Santana bites her bottom lip. "I'm just as scared as you are, Rachel."  
  
Rachel's expression softens and she runs a shaky hand through her hair. "Are you? I've had so many plans in place for such a long time and now... I can't get over the foreboding feeling that I'm staring at my future right now. You want this to be over because it scares you to think that this might be what you might encounter down the line. I want this to be over because my daddy's suffering. And I want this to be over because this reminds me that chances are I won't be able to use the restroom unaided in twenty-five years. So."  
  
Santana's mouth falls open as she struggles with what to say. She reaches for Rachel's hand and tries to quell her hurt when Rachel takes a step back. "What is your biggest fear, Rachel? That you have Huntington's or that if you do, you'll have to live through it alone?"  
  
Rachel laughs bitterly. "Both," she says, "but perhaps the latter option. I don't want to end up like my father, Santana. But how do you ask someone to take the chance on you with a disease like that looming overhead?"  
  
"You ask them to love you, Rachel. If they do, then they'll stay." Santana shakes her head lightly and whispers, "You'll always have me; I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Rachel's expression softens and she reaches out to take Santana's hand in her own. She threads her fingers with those of her companion. This has been the most comforting of gestures since the first time it occurred, sitting together in the OSUMC Neurology Department waiting room.  
  
"What are you working on?" Rachel asks.  
  
Santana shoots a quick glance at her notebook. "Calc. Have you started on the homework yet?"  
  
Rachel gives her a wry smile and Santana understands; Rachel hasn't yet had the time. She tugs Rachel down to the floor so that they can both sit and use the coffee table to do their assignments.  
  
"I'm almost done with math. I'll help you once I'm finished."  
  
"Santana," Rachel says, "you can't do my work for me. Not only is that unethical but I won’t learn the material and subsequently fail all of my exams.” She presses her lips against Santana’s cheek. “But thank you anyway.”  
  
Santana shrugs a shoulder. “I wasn’t planning on doing it all but... Like, Rachel, I know you’re stressed. I just want you to be able to have a good night’s sleep, y’know.”  
  
This time Rachel’s smile is warm. “That’s very sweet.”  
  
The girls reach for their books and get to work. Rachel would really like to get done as quickly as possible; having a good night of sleep would help tremendously.  
  
\---------  
  
So she’s booked them a day at the spa. There’s not really any place in Lima that’s gonna offer them everything that she’s got planned so Santana picks this place in Columbus that she’s gone to a few times before. She tells her dad about her plans and he’s so on board that he actually asks for a day off at work so he can take over Joel-caring duties.  
  
Quinn and Rachel have started a tentative friendship. It’s, like, weirdly sweet and polite but Santana still doesn’t like it very much. It’s not really in her nature to share and Rachel is  _her _ friend, was her friend  _first _. Plus Santana’s so fucking tired of Quinn coming in and taking whatever she wants, whatever Santana has. So when Rachel mentions in passing that Quinn’s supposed to come over on Saturday to teach her about photography, Santana knows she’s going to have to have a conversation with her former bff.  
  
She corners Quinn in the locker room after practice on Friday. Quinn looks up from her locker, finds Santana leaning against the wall and frowns.  
  
“What do you want, Santana?” Quinn asks.  
  
Santana raises her chin. “Got plans for tomorrow, Q?”  
  
Quinn scoffs and shuts her locker. “Look, you may be Rachel’s friend but you’re not her keeper. You can’t forbid me from hanging out with her so if that’s what you wanted to tell me then you can go now.”  
  
Santana pushes off the wall and steps closer to the blonde. “Actually, it’s not. I mean, would I like for you to fuck off? Sure. But this isn’t about the fact that you cream your panties whenever you’re near Rachel.” Quinn rolls her eyes and Santana laughs. “Whatever, bitch, it’s true; don’t deny it. So, anyway, I need you to cancel on Rachel tomorrow. I’ve got something planned for us in Columbus and I’m going to need her all day.”  
  
Quinn picks up her backpack and makes her way out into the hallway. Santana follows.  
  
“I’m not bailing on Rachel, Santana,” Quinn says harshly. “I said that I’d be her friend and I’m going to do just that.”  
  
Santana grabs Quinn’s elbow and stops her. “Quinn,” she says softly, “I know you’ve noticed how stressed out Rachel’s been lately. I’ve booked us time at this spa in Columbus so she can just relax and let other people take care of her and pamper and stuff. So I need you to cancel so she can go and not feel guilty about ditching you the whole time she’s there.”  
  
Quinn bites her lip (she’s considering Santana’s request but she’s also not all too convinced so as to immediately agree) and Santana decides that she’s not above compromising to get what she wants.  
  
“You can come with,” Santana relents. “Rachel needs this, Quinn. And if I have to put up with your slobbering to get Rachel to go then so be it.”  
  
Quinn appears affronted. "I don't slobber!" She takes a deep breath and glares at Santana. "At least I don't do it any more than you do."  
  
She shrugs a shoulder. "Whatevs. I don't slobber, I ogle. Rachel doesn't mind me doing it and she's certainly worthy of ogling. So, are you on board or not? 'Cause if you are, I gotta call the spa and add you to our appointment."  
  
Quinn squares her shoulders and smiles softly. "Are you finally over your gay panic? Ready to step out of the closet and admit you're a lesbian, San?"  
  
Santana rolls her eyes. "I like what I like. I don't have the compulsive need to label myself like you. I've had dick and I've enjoyed pussy and if that makes me bicurious, bisexual, pansexual, gay... I'm not overly concerned either way." Santana purses her lips. "Still haven't answered my question, Q. Be aware that I'm crashing your plans no matter what."  
  
Quinn thinks over her options and sighs. "Make sure you schedule me a massage, alright?"  
  
If it weren't for their shared affection for Rachel, Quinn would have slapped that smarmy grin off Santana's face.  
  
\---------  
  
She avoids rising early on weekends because, duh, that's sleep-in time. Except she knows that Rachel and Dr. Lieberthal are heading to Temple in the morning, so Santana wakes up early on Saturday and gets dressed. Her papi's waiting for her in the kitchen with a steaming hot cup of coffee.  
  
"Buenos días, nena," Tomás says. "¿Quieres desayunar? And did you call to confirm your appointment?"  
  
"Buenos días, papi," she says. "I called and they've got all three of us down at eleven. No tengo mucha hambre so I'll just have a yogurt. Did you eat already?"  
  
Tomás nods. Santana heads for the refrigerator and pulls out her breakfast. She eats quickly because she's surprising Rachel at Temple and picking her up there, and then they’re heading over to the Fabrays to pick up Quinn.  
  
And then she and her dad get into his car and they're heading to Beth Israel.  
  
"It's very sweet, what you're doing for Rachel."  
  
Santana glances over at her father; ever the responsible driver, his eyes are on the road. "Yeah."  
  
"You take good care of her, nena," he continues. "Rachel has a difficult job and she's much too young to deal with this alone but she manages because she has you there to help. I'm proud of you."  
  
"She takes care of me, too. I know it seems a little skewed in her favor right now but when it's just the two us hanging out... Like, I know I'm a bit of a headcase but Rachel helps me deal with stuff so that I don't keep it all walled up inside." She shrugs. "She's my best friend."  
  
Tomás nods. He breathes deeply. "Definitivamente sí. Rachel's a very good friend...and maybe else, too? Something more?"  
  
Um, okay. Wow. Is she-- are they actually having this conversation right now? In the car? She didn’t think she’d be ready for this conversation so soon, but there’s something about this moment that feels right, even if they’re in a car. Santana takes in a deep breath.  
  
"Papi, I--"  
  
"Mi'ja, I love you. I have since the moment I knew you existed and I always will." He looks at her and she realizes they're stopped at a red light. "So, is there anything you want to tell me?"  
  
She swallows past the lump that's formed in her throat. Santana nods. She opens her mouth but nothing comes out. Her brain is furiously trying to come up with the right words but they don't seem to be making the journey down to her lips and she's honestly panicking a little.  
  
Then the car is moving again.  
  
"Santana," Tomás says, "¿Estas enamorada de Rachel?"  
  
She nods. "Yes, papa, I like Rachel."  
  
"Is it just her you’re attracted to or do you-"  
  
"I'm gay," she blurts out. She grabs onto the door handle because her dad just hit the breaks hard. She looks at the stoplight and it's red and it’s clear that he nearly ran the light after hearing her confession. She purses her lips, squares her shoulders and keeps her eyes on the front windshield because suddenly all of these words- the  _right _ words- are coming together and she finally knows what she wants to say to him. "I love girls the way I’m supposed to love boys. I think I always have. I used to think that I would just get over it, that if I faked it long enough that I actually would forget about girls and be one hundred percent straight. I tried so hard to push these feelings away, to keep everything inside, but every day’s felt like there's this battle going on inside of me. And it's made me angry and bitter and sad. I just can’t do it anymore. I can't fight who I am anymore. I... I've experimented a little and... It's not a phase. I'm never getting over it. It's who I am. I like girls, papa."  
  
Her dad is silent and she's already thinking about how the fuck she's going to deal with this. Is he going to disown her now? Is she going to be able to get inside the house when she comes home? Is she even going to go out today? She can't ditch Rachel- she won't- so if he thinks that he can split them up then he's just going to have to--  
  
Her papi's hand settles atop hers and it's steady and warm and she really can't be blamed for bursting into tears.  
  
"Te amo, Santana. You're my daughter. Nothing is going to change that." He pulls the car up to the curb a block away from Temple, puts it in park, throws off his seatbelt and wraps his arms around her. "Rachel is the luckiest girl in the world to have you, okay?"  
  
She's probably getting snot all over his polo but neither of them care very much right now.  
  
"You don't think it's wrong? That I'm going to hell?" she asks quietly and desperately.  
  
"No. There's nothing wrong with you. You're just as you're supposed to be, Santana Maité. You're just as God made you," he assures. He kisses her forehead and wipes away her tears. "You're still as perfect as the day you were born. Don't ever accept anyone else's directive on your life, Santana. Remember: hatred stirs up disputes, but love covers all offenses."  
  
Santana smiles; it’s so like her father to use a Biblical quotation to ameliorate and reassure his lesbian daughter. "How bad's the damage?"  
  
Tomás sits back in his seat and buckles his seatbelt. "Estas hermosa. Beautiful as always."  
  
Santana laughs and flips down the visor to catch a glimpse of herself in the small mirror there. She needs to touch up her eyeliner but it doesn't look too bad.  
  
She manages to do that while the car is moving because she's just that freaking talented.  
  
\---------  
  
“I came out to my dad in the car this morning.”  
  
Rachel turns to look at her so quickly that Santana’s almost convinced the girl’s given herself whiplash. She doesn’t really mean to tell Rachel about it, at least not while they’re sitting in Dr. López’s BMW, waiting for Quinn to come out of the gas station where they’ve stopped to fill up the tank and buy water, but she can’t wait until they were alone to say something.  
  
“Wait,  _what _?” Eloquent it is not. Rachel’s brow furrows. “Santana, are you sure?” Santana’s wry smile lets Rachel know that she’s said the wrong thing. “I mean, are-”  
  
“Am I sure that I’m gay or am sure that I told my father about it? The answer’s a yes to both asinine questions,” Santana spits out. She shakes her head. It’s ridiculous, really, how Rachel has wholeheartedly embraced Quinn’s sexuality but questions hers. “Did you ask Quinn if  _she _ was sure or is that dubious honor reserved solely for me?”  
  
Rachel reaches out for her but Santana pulls away so that her back’s flush against the door. "My reaction to Quinn's confession has noth-"  
  
“Don’t!” she says viciously. “I thought you would be supportive. I thought that you’d be happy for me, happy that I don’t have to hide this part of me from my dad anymore. I know how everyone else at McKinley’s going to react and I thought- I  _stupidly _ thought- that you would be the one person who wouldn’t throw the fact that I’ve fucked guys back in my face. I guess all that blind, enthusiastic encouragement is reserved for prissy, frigid, blonde bitches.”  
  
Rachel’s eyes are shining and in any other case Santana would drop everything to try and make her feel better but she’s not feeling all too magnanimous now, so she undoes her seatbelt and gets out of the car instead. She leans against the door, wraps her left arm around her waist, presses her right hand to her chest and successfully chokes down a sob. She’s always thought she knows what heartbreak is- her mother’s abandonment, her dad’s diagnosis- but right now, this overwhelming pain in her chest that is seriously hampering her ability to breathe properly, this equals both of those events in true heartbreak.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
She turns around and sees Quinn standing next to the car, handing Rachel two water bottles through her open window.  She bites her tongue to distract herself from her emotional turmoil and then says, “Get your ass inside the car. We’re going to be late.”  
  
She cranks up the volume on the stereo as soon as she starts the engine and ignores any attempt of Rachel’s to talk.  
  
\---------  
  
Her iPod’s been on shuffle from the moment she disrobed and headed for the massage table. They’re all getting their rubdowns and facials in the same room and Santana doesn’t want to hear Rachel stumble through an apology with Quinn as witness.  
  
Right, so her iPod decides to die just as Rachel excuses herself to go to the restroom before their manicures. She sighs and shoves it into her robe pocket.  
  
“Had I known today would suck this hard, I wouldn’t have cancelled my plans,” Quinn says.  
  
Santana rolls her eyes. “You’re getting scrubbed, polished and gleamed on my dime, Fabray. I fail to see how this is a loss for you.”  
  
Quinn fixes her with her most intense glare. “Was it or wasn’t it you who griped about today being a day to ensure that Rachel felt cared for? When you picked me up you two were getting along like gangbusters. What the hell happened at that gas station to change that? Because whatever it was, it’s made Rachel mopey and depressed. And it doesn’t seem like you even care right now.”  
  
“Fuck you,” she growls. “Of course I care.”  
  
Quinn tilts her head and then smiles knowingly, as though she’s just figured out the answer to the most pressing question in the universe. “Ah. Well, you can’t just ignore Rachel because she hurt you, San. It won’t make you feel any better; it’ll just make you hurt more. We haven’t gone through ten years of friendship without me learning that.”  
  
Santana settles in her chair and tips her head back. “I don’t want to talk about this with you, Quinn,” she says.  
  
“Then talk to Rachel!” Quinn insists. “You haven’t even let her apologize. How you plan on making up if you’re not speaking?”  
  
Santana shrugs.  
  
“You’re fucking impossible,” Quinn hisses.  
  
Santana hears her get up and walk away and closes her eyes. Quinn’s right; she knows this. She’ll be damned before she admits it to the blonde, though. There's a shift in the room and she knows Rachel’s standing in front of her before the girl speaks.  
  
“I called your dad to check in,” Rachel says softly. “We had a very polite conversation before I asked him to sign for some packages that were getting expedited to my house.”  
  
“My dad’s not your butler,” she argues. “And why the hell were you shopping online? You’re supposed to be relaxing and not letting my money go to waste.”  
  
Rachel throws her arms up. “Your money  _is _ going to waste, Santana! I’m not going to relax when we’re fighting. You can’t even stand to be in the same room with me. How is that conducive to stress relief?”  
  
Santana tilts her chin down and meets Rachel’s eyes for the first time since that morning. “I’m upset with you,” she whispers. “I can’t decide if I’m more hurt or angry so I’m sticking with upset. I was hoping that you would be proud of me.”  
  
“I  _am _ proud of you,” Rachel affirms. She cups Santana’s cheek. “I’m so incredibly happy and proud, Santana. I’m sorry if my reaction ever implied otherwise. You took me by surprise. I knew that you’d enjoyed women as well as men in the past; I just didn’t know that you were interested in women exclusively. Please forgive me, Santana. It was never my intention to make you feel ashamed or anything less than the wonderful girl that I’m fortunate to call my best friend.”  
  
She nods because she’s pretty sure she’s going to bawl if she opens her mouth because, yeah, she contributed to this situation, too, when she didn't give Rachel a chance to explain. She’s already thinking of how to apologize to Rachel for that because a simple ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t seem like enough. Rachel wraps her arms around Santana’s shoulders. Her face is tucked into Rachel’s neck and she closes her eyes tightly as her own arms circle Rachel’s waist.  
  
Someone clears their throat and both brunettes turn their heads and find Quinn leaning against the doorjamb. “I know this wasn’t exactly cheap but do you guys think we can get out of here? I had a disappointing couple of hours watching you two moping about. I’m hoping a large late lunch will fix things.”  
  
Santana stands and nods. “Oh, hell yes! We can do our nails at a sleepover. Right now I wants me some delicious carbs.” She looks at Rachel and preempts her with, “Are you happy right now? Relaxed? Refreshed? I’m pretty sure the answer to all of these questions is yes. So let’s get dressed and out of here.”  
  
Rachel doesn’t stifle the giggle that bursts forth when Santana and Quinn each take one of her hands and drag her into the hallway.  
  
\---------  
  
Santana stands at the island in the Lieberthal family kitchen, wearing Rachel’s cupcake-print apron, grating potatoes into a large bowl. She’s got a note card in front of her and she’s squinting at the small, cramped writing.  
  
“You shouldn’t squint your eyes like that.”  
  
She looks up at Rachel who sits with Quinn at the kitchen table. The two are flipping through a magazine and Santana frowns.  
  
“Are you having trouble with your vision, Santana?” Rachel continues. “Do you think we should schedule you an appointment with an ophthalmologist? I’m sure Daddy and Tomás know some good ones.”  
  
She rolls her eyes. “You should learn to cook,” Santana says. “You’ll starve when you go to college, otherwise. Plus you have all these awesome recipes from your grandmother...even if she did jot everything down in tiny as fuck writing.” She scrapes her knuckles on the hand grater and hisses. “And would it kill you to buy a freakin’ food processor? I mean, shit, my fingers are going to wind up looking like raw hamburger meat.”  
  
Rachel winces at her description and Quinn just turns a page in the  _Vogue _ they picked up on the way back from the spa. Rachel hops up from her chair, skips- she  _legit _ skips- over to Santana, picks up the recipe card and looks it over.  
  
“While my bubbie’s writing is small, I don’t think it’s an illegible as you make it out to be,” Rachel quips before setting the card back down. “Also, I believe my lack of culinary skills explains why we haven’t felt the need to invest in any small kitchen appliances other than a stand mixer and a microwave.” When Santana squints again, Rachel says, “Okay, I’m definitely talking with your father about getting you in to see an ophthalmologist. I think he's in the library."  
  
Rachel walks out of the kitchen. Quinn looks over at Santana and quirks up an eyebrow. "Your vision's shit and you know it. You're going to look so nerdy with glasses."  
  
"Fuck you, bitch," Santana says. "I'm so friggin’ awesome that not only can I pull off glasses, I can make them look badass."  
  
Quinn shrugs a shoulder and turns another page. "So, what did Rachel say that set you off?"  
  
Santana sets aside the potatoes and wipes her hands on a dishtowel. Quinn closes the magazine when it becomes obvious that her vice-captain has no intention of giving her a straight answer.  
  
"Santana."  
  
The brunette takes a quick breath and holds her head high. "I came out to my dad this morning. I told Rachel and her reaction was not exactly what I expected, alright?"  
  
Quinn leans back in her chair. "I thought you said you didn't need a label," she said.  
  
"I don't," Santana affirmed, "but other people do. And, like, my dad needed to hear it from me. So I told him that I'm a lesbian. He was blessedly cool about it."  
  
Quinn shakes her head because her parents are still in the dark about her sexuality and she knows how her father will react when he finds out; it won't be pretty or peaceful. She wonders if Santana know just how lucky she is. “Yeah, well... I guess we’re back to competing with each other again only this time it’s over girls and not boys.”  
  
Santana laughs. "Tits not dicks," she concurs.  
  
When Rachel strolls back into the kitchen, Santana’s got the potatoes drained and mixed in with onions, egg substitute, flour, oil, salt and pepper and evenly spread out in a baking dish, and Quinn’s standing on the other side of the island, frowning.  
  
“Ooh, kugel!” Rachel chirps. She stands on her toes and presses her lips to Santana’s cheek.  
  
When Santana blushes (though she’ll insist ‘till she’s blue in the face that ethnic people most certainly do  _not _ blush) Quinn grins. She might’ve lost all chance of ever being with Rachel but she’s gained a lifetime of ribbing Santana.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Buenos días, nena- Good morning, baby  
> ¿Quieres desayunar?- Do you want breakfast?  
> No tengo mucha hambre- I'm not very hungry  
> ¿Estas enamorada de Rachel?- Are you in love with Rachel?  
> Estas hermosa- You're beautiful


End file.
